Shyne
by Jeremiah Gathnor
Summary: The story of a young boy's journey into manhood and his quest to become a blademaster and regain his lost honor.
1. Go Forth, Young Shyne

Chapter I – Go Forth, Young Shyne

"The manor should be coming into view over the top of the hill, Master Shyne," said the muffled voice of the coachman. Shyne put his head out the window to catch the first glimpse of his home.

It had been nice spending the month with his uncle, but Shyne was glad to be home. As much as he'd enjoyed having all of his male cousins around to play with, he missed his friends here. He may not have any brothers or sisters, but he got along quite well with the servant's children and his parents were content with that.

His trip, filled with daydreaming of the all the stories he could share with Jaram and Shena, was now at a close. His heart was soaring as the crested the hill.

The coach stopped on top of the hill, as the coachman halted the horses and stared in amazement at the rubble where the manor house had once been. The four guards that had been riding alongside the coach immediately drew two swords each and began scanning the area.

Shyne couldn't quite grasp what he was seeing. Where was his home? What had happened here? Before he could sort out all of these questions, the coach and its escort moved on down the hill slowly.

By the time they reached the ruins, Shyne had his own swords out. They were small and he wasn't exactly well-trained, but he knew something was wrong and he was not going to be taken by surprise. When the coach came to a stop again, he opened the door and dropped to the ground. Immediately, he rushed into the ruins, ignoring the shout of his guards, and began sifting through things with his boots, unwilling to give up his swords.

"Master Shyne," the coachman said, rushing up to him with a sword in one hand, "please get back in the coach. We'll handle this."

"No."

The coachman continued to argue, but Shyne simply ignored him. He knew they wouldn't physically try to force him into the coach until someone spotted something hostile. In the mean time, he continued to wander through thr remains of the house.

"This is my room," Shyne said at one point, mostly to himself. One of the guards gave him a concerned look, but he didn't see it. He stepped across the rubble where he'd used to sleep and continued on.

Finally he got to the point where his parents' room had once stood. It was at this point that he began to cry. He sheathed his twin short swords and fell to his knees, digging through the rubble for some sign of his parents.

"Trolloc tracks," he heard one of the men say a little while later. "There's nothing left here."

Shyne kept digging. Tossing pieces of ceiling and wall aside, he noticed a gleam of gold. Something stirred inside him and he began digging with a renewed fervor. If it really had been trollocs, he knew there was almost no chance he would even find his parents' bodies. But there was something down there.

It didn't take long to find what had glimmered before. With a whimper, he pulled out two large swords from rubble. Both were sheathed, but it was one of the embossed golden herons on each of the scabbards that must have caught his eye. Holding these swords in his hands, he knew, irrevocably, his father was dead. Eloran Barend would never have left these swords behind.

He clutched the swords to his chest and fell onto the gravel, too weak to support himself anymore. For an eternity, he just lay there on his side, clutching the swords of his ancestors and crying. He'd lost everything while he was gone. He'd lost his parents, his home, and the only two people he'd ever considered a friend.

A cry from the forests surrounding the manor jerked him out of his crying fit. He rolled over and lifted his head, but couldn't see anything through all the rubble. Slowly, weakly, he crouched, then stood, never dropping the two precious swords. What he saw brought a smile to his face, even if it did nothing to stop his tears. Running toward the five men and the boy standing amidst the ruins were about ten or fifteen men and women led by two children.

As the adults rushed up to the guards and coachmen, sparing Shyne only looks of pity and loss as they ran past, the two children came directly to their peer.

"Shyne!" Jaram called out. "You're okay!"

The two of them hit him as one, hugging him from both sides, and he returned the embrace as best he could without dropping the swords. "I'm so glad you guys are safe," was all he could say.

Together, the three of them just sat and cried as the adults talked. Through the tears, Jaram and Shena explained what had happened. The trollocs had attacked the manor around dusk. The two of them had been on the other side of the house, playing while their mother hung sheets. They heard the screaming and saw a few people running, then their mother gathered them and took off with them over the open stretch toward the woods. After overtaking the manor and killing or capturing everyone inside, the trollocs began to search the woods around the house for the people who'd escaped. It was only through luck that the woman and two children had escaped. In the days since then, they'd found others and sent a few to the nearest town for help. They'd seen no one, though, until Shyne's coach topped the hill. As soon as they figured out who they were, the survivors had come out of the woods.

"My parents?" Shyne asked, though he already knew the answer.

"No one we've talked to saw them," Shena answered. "I'm sorry Shyne, but I don't think they made it."

Shyne just nodded and went on. "And your father?"

"We haven't seen him either," Jaram explained. "It doesn't seem like more than the thirteen of us and the two we sent to the village survived. We're not even sure about the two we sent."

Shyne stood up and walked with his friends over to where the adults were discussing what to do now. They didn't seem close to making a decision. The young noble cleared his throat, drawing everyone's eyes. "We're going to find anything we can salvage and put it in the coach. We are going to go to the village. When we get there, we'll secure food and extra horses enough to make it to my uncle's estate. As the new Head of the Barend house until I come of age, it is his responsibility to look after all of you."

He was young, he knew, and adults had a way of refusing to listen to people younger than them, but everyone here was well aware that he outranked any of them, whatever his age. Besides, he was right, and they all knew it. They would follow him.

Shyne walked all the way to the village, refusing to ride either the coach or the horses, instead offering them to the old and the injured. They got there and realized they didn't have enough money to buy horses. They bought enough food to last them a while and set off for Shyne's uncle.

It took a few weeks at the slow pace they were forced to travel, but they were met a few days away from their destination by Shyne's uncle and twenty of his guards, with enough horses to carry all of Shyne's party and have a few mounts left over. Doran Barend was disturbed by the news of his brother's demise and showed very sincere thanks that Shyne had been spared. The manor, the land, and the family possessions they'd found in the ruins belonged now to Doran until Shyne was old enough and claimed his birthright. This included the heron-marked swords that had been passed down for so many generations of the Barend family.

When they all finally reached Doran's manor, the surviving servants and staff were hired on if they wanted, and given enough money to see themselves to another job if they didn't. Jaram and Shena's mother decided to stay there, largely to keep the three children together.

Shyne's routine changed little. He still went through the sword lessons he'd gone through at home, though he now had the lessons with his cousins, taught by an old military veteran. The only teacher Shyne had ever had before was his father, who'd been teaching him a way of fighting that had been passed down as long as the swords had. He feared now that he would never fully learn that style. Still, he was able to take what he was learning from his new teacher and integrate it into his old forms in such a way that he felt he got better.

While he wasn't learning the swords, he was often running around the woods with Jaram and Shena, as well as occasionally a cousin that cared to tag along. His cousins were nice and provided great company, but he knew that they didn't understand why he preferred spending time with the children of servants instead of other noble children.

On the rare moments where he wasn't playing with his friends or practicing his swordplay, he could almost always be found sitting in the front hall, staring up at the heron-marked blades his uncle had had hung on the wall, where he claimed they would stay until Shyne could claim them.

After only a month or so, Shyne began to realize that he didn't really fit in here. His uncle and aunt and cousins were a poor substitute for the family he'd lost, and he felt like a burden on them, though they tried very hard to keep up the appearance that he wasn't. He told his only two friends about his feelings, and the three of them together came up with a plan. The next day, they approached Jaram and Shena's mother.

Nana, which is what Shyne had always called her, listened attentively as they told her about their thoughts. She had been rather unhappy here as well, and confided in them that she would like to return to her own family in Saldaea. She helped them with their plans and smoothed out many of the rough edges they hadn't even noticed.

Two days later, in the middle of the night, Shyne snuck out of his room. He was dressed for travel, with his short swords at his belt and a pack of food and clothing slung across his back. In the hall, he met Jaram and Shena, also dressed for travel and carrying their own bags. The three of them snuck down into the great hall, where Shyne quietly removed the family swords from their resting place and strapped them to his back. They were over half as long as he was, so they didn't fit at all, but he knew he wouldn't be back in a long time and he couldn't help but think of them as his. With everything ready, they snuck out, and knowing the guard's patrol patterns, made it into the forest without any trouble.

They snuck through the woods the rest of the night and didn't camp until they were far from the manor they'd run away from. By the time their disappearance was discovered, they were moving again, farther away. Days later, they came to a road, which they traveled alongside until it brought them to a village.

What they were doing was dangerous, and everyone was well aware of it. They'd spent all their lives playing in the woods around the manor they'd grown up in, and they all knew the basics of hunting and trapping and such, but Shyne and Jaram were only eleven, and Shena younger still. The wilderness in the Borderlands was more dangerous than perhaps any other wilderness in the world, with the exception of the Aiel Waste. Aside from the normal wolves and bears and large cats, there was a distinct chance they might run into trollocs or perhaps a dragkhar. Yet they had faith in themselves and Nana had faith in them, and through skill and a lot of luck, they made it to the village they were heading for.

They camped outside the village, careful not to be noticed, and kept a good watch on the roads leading to the village from both sides. More than once, they saw riders from uncle Doran's estate ride into town and leave a few hours later. They were looking for them, but no one had seen them.

They saw what they were waiting for the fourth day of camping outside the town. A woman was heading into town with another few men who didn't seem to be guards. Late that night, they saw the woman sneaking away down the road and they went out to meet her.

"Ah, children, I've been so worried about you," Nana said as they approached.

"There was no need to worry, Mother," Jaram assured her. "We can take care of ourselves out here."

"I know you can, Jaram, but it is a mother's job to worry. I wish I could have been here sooner, but I had to wait a few days before leaving, so that it seemed I'd really given up hope of you three being found before I left. But I see you're all alright and I have no more need to worry."

"Let's go then," Shena said, excited to finally be on their way.

"Yes," Nana smiled. "Let's go home."


	2. Honor Lost

Chapter II – Honor Lost

Krinashum, in the far south of Saldaea, was a very happy little town. Shyne quickly began to enjoy it. The trip through Kandor and most of the rest of Saldaea had been generally uninsteresting, and Shyne and his friends had been fairly bored before arriving at this sleepy town away from most large roads.

Nana seemed fairly certain they would be safe here, and it was obvious she was glad to be home. Her older brother was happy to take the four of them in, as he'd recently lost his wife and his only child had just gotten married. He claimed his home was too empty with one person living in it anyway.

The next three years went by without incident. For a few days, Shyne and Jaram's hair, pulled back into two braids, with tiny bells to the tip of each, caught a few glances and in some cases stares, but before long the three children were thought of no differently then any other child in the village. The three of them continued to spend much of their time in the nearby forests, often spending days camped out. They were far enough from the Blightborder now that Nana could let them out for days and not worry about them coming across a fist of trollocs or a dragkhar. When they weren't gallivanting around in the woods, Shyne was practicing his sword forms. He and Jaram worked odd jobs and scraped up enough money to eventually get a set of swords made for Jaram, so they could practice with real blades as well. Two or three times a week, the two boys would take out their wooden practice swords and spar, while Shena watched and kept score.

When Shyne was 14, he decided he wanted to join the army, to fight trollocs and in so doing attempt to avenge his parents. By this time, he and Jaram were fairly evenly matched with their swords and Jaram took up his friend's idea. They approached Nana with the idea and she couldn't help but notice the zeal they both had for the thought of military service. With a heavy heart, she let them go.

The parting was difficult. Shyne and Jaram packed up their few belongings and enough food and money to see them to Shol Arbela. The morning they left was full of Nana and Shena's tears. The man Shyne had come to think of as an uncle gave them advice he thought every man should know before striking out on his own. Quite of a few of the townspeople of Krinashum came out to see them off.

"If you ever get tired of killing trollocs," Nana said to them moments before they turned to walk away up the road, "you know where to find me. You'll both always have a home here."

They struck out for the River Arinelle, where they caught passage upriver to Maradon. From there, they hitchhiked and walked the road through Kandor and Arafel to Shol Arbela. Whenever the ship captain didn't need them, and then at camp every night, they practiced sword forms, with the wooden swords whenever anyone else was around. Many of the ship's crew and other travelers would sit and watch, especially before they reached Arafel, where fighting with two swords was common.

Once they reached their destination, it didn't take long to find a recruiter that was willing to take them in. They were young yet, but when it became obvious that they had no where else to go they were given to a grizzled, middle-aged veteran by the name of Larilun, who among other things would be seeing to their weapon training to make sure they were up to army standards, while the army decided where to put them.

Larilun soon found out they were already beyond grunt standards. Still, the style they used was strange. He began coaching them in the forms of the Arafellin military, forcing Shyne and Jaram to adapt to a new style. The months they spent with Larilun forced them to grow not only as swordsmen, but as soldiers and as men. The two of them grew up more in those months than in the years since their parents had been killed and eaten by a Trolloc horde.

Sword forms, however, were not the only things Larilun taught them. At Shyne's behest, he found them a teacher for something he claimed very few men in the military trained for. With this new teacher, the boys learned the trolloc language. Larilun told them that they were shaping up for reconnaissance duty and laughed about it, but seemed actually impressed by their will to learn what so few cared to know.

Finally after months of training, they were assigned to a unit. When they arrived at the fort they were stationed at, they received an odd welcome from what was now their military family. They were the youngest people at the fort, and immediately became aware of it. Shyne and Jaram were the butt of every joke, the object of every stare and head shake, until the first time the fort was attacked. When the others realized the two boys could hold their own, they gave them a sort of grudging respect and allowed them to exist a bit more easily within the soldier society.

Shyne understood their feelings, and so did Jaram once Shyne explained them. In the army, your life often depended on the guy next to you. If the two boys had been as untrained as their age suggested, they would have been a danger to everyone around them. Now that everyone knew they were capable, they could be trusted.

That first battle, though, was something Shyne would never forget. He'd never seen trollocs kill before. Jaram remembered very vividly what he'd seen when the manor had been decimated, but Shyne had never known the chaos and horror of battle. One particular memory that would haunt him was the sight of a single trolloc, slightly larger than the rest, taking down three soldiers with a swing of his giant scythesword. The memory of blood splattering from three separate bodies attached to faces he knew was something he could never forget. Only one memory would ever stand out more in his mind.

The sights he saw during his first battle left another impression on him though. As they were cleaning up after the trollocs broke and fled back toward the Blight, Shyne came across the first trolloc he'd killed. Its face, too, was engrained into the boy's head, if for no other reason than because it was the first intelligent creature he'd ever killed. He knelt beside the body, and remembering the horrors he'd seen, pried its sword from its hand. The sword was clean, except for the blood that had been splattered onto it after the wielder fell. That sword he kept and much to the resentment, and in some cases amusement, of many of the people around him, he began practicing with it.

There was no one willing to train with the thing and few willing even to touch it. Therefore, there was no one to teach him. He was forced to create his own style with it. He took what he'd been taught of single-sword fighting and modified it for two-handed use. The blade was much heavier than anything he was used to, heavier even than both the heron-marked warder's swords he never used.

He was asked, at one point, by a soldier he'd grown to respect and like, why he trained with the scythesword. "My father told me once," he responded, "that one of the most important aspects of war is knowing your enemy. It's why Jaram and I learned how to speak the trolloc language and it's why I'm learning to wield a trolloc sword. I was born to fight them, and in understanding the way they fight, I'm sure I can fight them better."

In the following battles, he tried to pay more attention to the way the trollocs used their swords. He made sure he didn't pay too much attention and kept his mind mostly on the battle, but he learned in the midst of the killing. It became obvious to those who occasionally watched him practice with the scythesword that he was getting better and that he was beginning to fight more and more like the trollocs they'd fought against so many times. Some thought of his behavior as an unhealthy obsession. Others saw him as a link to the trollocs, and hoped that he could learn something through these exercises that would make it easier for them to do their jobs.

This continued for long amounts of time, sporadically dotted by short leaves, in which Shyne and Jaram would spend their time in Shol Arbela or some small town somewhere, wishing they had time to go back to Krinashum and talking about home. The routine wasn't broken until they were sixteen. After another short leave, they returned to the fort to be greeted by someone neither of them had expected to see.

"What are you doing here," Shyne asked.

"I missed you guys," Shena explained. "Mother and I traveled all the way here. I've been given a job as a laundress, so I get to stay here with you guys. Mother was very sad to find that you were on leave. She wanted to see you two, but didn't have time to stay."

"Where did she go?" Jaram asked.

"Home. The merchant that we were traveling with had to leave almost immediately. They said they would wait for her to see you, but couldn't wait for three days. And there wasn't anyone else coming this way for months."

"I would certainly have liked to see her," Jaram said sadly, "but I'm just as glad to see you, sister. Tell us all about what's been going on while we were away."

With Shena's arrival, Shyne and Jaram's existence brightened considerably. The three of them spent every moment they could together. Shena was always there to watch whenever Shyne and Jaram were practicing, if she didn't have any work to do, and she was always there with fresh bandages after battle. The other soldiers, too, took notice of the bright young woman and she began to take the form of a mascot for the company. Whenever she walked into a room, everyone brightened.

The more time they spent together, the more Shyne realized that she had changed. Not only had the years they'd been apart allowed her to learn the arts of the hearth and home, but they'd allowed her to mature both mentally and physically. At fifteen, Shena was an attractive young woman with an excellent grasp of what she wanted and where she fit into the world. As his view of her began to change, so did their relationship. It didn't take him long to realize that the feelings he was beginning to feel for her were comfortable feelings she was long used to feeling for him. Jaram, quickly becoming aware of what was going on between his best friend and his sister, found interesting ways to leave the two of them alone together.

A year later, Shyne and Jaram were given their first real assignment. The two of them, with three years of military life behind them, were respected and admired soldiers. They were chosen, due to their unique talents, to accompany a small party into the Blight to attempt to learn why the border had been so quiet recently.

There was nothing Shyne had ever experienced that could prepare him for the horrors of the Blight. Much of the time he spent there was soon a blur in his memory, but when the small party returned two weeks after they set out, they numbered only four out of the fifteen who had gone. That night, the fort celebrated the victory those four had won in the Blight while at the same time quietly mourning the eleven who had not returned. Between songs of conquest and songs of death, Shyne and Shena talked about the scarring images he'd seen while he was away. She knew he was deeply disturbed, and judging by the way Jaram was quietly looking paranoid, he obviously was as well. It was at that point that one of the older soldiers came over with alcohol. "To take your mind off of what you've seen," he said. By the time the celebration got into full swing, all three of them were quite drunk.

Some time in the night, Shyne and Shena left Jaram asleep at his table and went off to be alone. Shyne, full of alcohol and a recently renewed respect for life, started doing things that somewhere in his mind he knew he'd never try sober. For a while, Shena went with it, too drunk to mind much. As the effects of her drunkenness began to wear off though, she tried to stop Shyne before they did anything they shouldn't do.

The next thing Shyne remembered was staring down at the form of Shena, broken beneath him. His blurred eyes and mind were both cleared for that split second it took for him to realize what he'd done. His heart, already racing, began an attempt to pound itself out of his chest. He reached out to take her hand, to apologize and tell her he would request a leave so they could talk about this, or request a transfer to another fort if she would prefer. His hand stopped before it reached her though, and silent tears began to burn his eyes.

She was dead. He didn't know when her life had slipped away. He couldn't remember any of the details. But he was miraculously sober now. Shaking, he looked around at the storeroom they were in. "What have I done?"

Perhaps the affects of the alcohol resumed at this point, but whatever happened, most of the rest of the night would forever be a blur in Shyne's mind. Before he knew it, he was well away from the fort, carrying only his heron-marked swords, a few coins, and a few wilderness necessities. He didn't think anyone had noticed him leaving. He didn't think there would be pursuit until the morning. He just knew he would run the rest of his life, from the people he'd loved and trusted, from his best friend, but mostly from the image of the woman he'd raped and murdered.


End file.
